


Saudade

by respierra



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Weddings, wedding fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-22 01:33:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1571051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/respierra/pseuds/respierra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s been dreaming of this day since forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saudade

He’s been dreaming of this day since forever.

The priest’s voice is crisp and clear in the spacious chapel, an ancient structure that has miraculously withstood the decades of use and the shifting of the world around it.

(But then again, so have they)

Bucky’s looking at him like he is the world right now, the same expression on his face the day he gazed up at Steve with a ring in his palm and the words “Well, are you gonna marry me or what, punk?” leaving his lips. Steve still feels himself go red and the butterflies flutter in his stomach. The brunette’s eyes are twinkling excitedly (It reminds him of Coney Island from a thousand years ago, before the thought of war had even crossed their minds) as the priest brings them together. Its a little disconcerting, the feeling of being open and safe like this, but thankfully the 21st century is a bit more accepting then the 30’s.

He’s pretty sure he’s tearing up a little. If Stark saw him, he’d never hear the end of it, but he can’t bring himself to care because he’s been thinking about this day since 1944, for God’s sake.

He can still smell the smoke and metal that never leaves their clothes from the inside of the tent. They have to get up in an hour, and whatever Bucky shook him awake for better be important.

"You can’t be serious." He may be a 100 pounds sturdier than he was back in Brooklyn, but he still feels faint at Bucky’s nervous smile and the simple, rusted band that's nestled in his hand.

"If I wasn't, I wouldn't be kneeling here staining my pants, now would I?"

Steve’s quiet, and the the barest hint of light is creeping up outside, signaling a new day of battle. They don’t have much time.

Bucky huffs out a shaky laugh. “You’re making me pretty jittery down here, Stevie.” He doesn't say anything in return, but his knees hit the ground all the same, body lunging forward to grip onto Bucky as tight as he can. He buries his face in the other’s shoulder and feels gun-calloused hands (Another reminder of what awaits them) card through his hair. Steve exhales shakily, because he knows, knows that despite the banter , the chance that neither of them may make it back to seal their vows is real and frightening. He understands it, and yet he still clings to Bucky tighter, just as he always has, and says “Of course, jerk.”

They stay like that for centuries before the blaring of the horns makes them separate and exit the tent with equally heavy hearts.

Fast forward to the future and here they are, a little more weary and a little older, reciting the vows they created in the midst of the blood and the uncertainty. Steve says “I do” without realizing it, so caught up in the memories. Bucky follows suit, and their reaching for each other before the priest directs them too, but it doesn't mater because its finally happening, they've made it this far, through everything, including this. Bucky’s hand curls around his waist and it feels like home, just like his mouth on hi-

Steve jolts up with a start, shaking the bed. He looks around still disoriented from the dream, hands searching the bed for a second body, the scene in his head just so real he could have sworn it was really happening.

He strains to see in the dark, trying to pinpoint dark hair and twinkling eyes, but there’s nothing. He’s alone, and the other side of the bed is cold. Everything’s wrong, his husband’s gone and the apartment seems unnaturally empty. It isn’t until he calls out his name that he realizes. When he does, he sits there on the mattress, the hand that was pulling in Bucky for a kiss just a minute ago covering his mouth as sobs claw their way up his throat. Its like he's mourning for the first time all over again, back on the train and screaming into the freezing mountain air.

After he’s done, he stays curled on the bed, shocked still from the way the pain tears him apart. A new wave of tears wracks his body as he feels the weight of the ring on his finger. Somewhere, in a ravine an ocean away, there’s an identical band on Bucky’s corpse. Its a reminder of what never was, what never could be, and Steve shuts his eyes against the real memories and the ones his mind fabricated to deal with the truth.

He’s been having this particular “memory” ever since he woke up from the ice, him and Bucky happily fulfilling their commitments from forever ago. They’re battle worn and out of place in the future, but they’re alive and by each other’s sides. The closest thing to a fairy tale ending they can achieve together.

He always comes out of it at the same time, grasping the sheets as he’s forced back into the present day, desperate to try to live out the fantasy that Bucky had proposed back then. It never happened of course, and the realization still kills Steve every time he wakes up and seeks out the body that isn’t there, that they never found among the snow and the rocks. The man who he never got to marry in the wedding that was only a fairy tale.

He’s been dreaming of that day since forever.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry.
> 
> Saudade: "A Portuguese and Galician term that is a common fixture in the literature and music of Brazil, Portugal, Cape Verde and beyond. The concept has many definitions, including a melancholy nostalgia for something that perhaps has not even happened. It often carries an assurance that this thing you feel nostalgic for will never happen again."
> 
> Based off this prompt: http://otpprompts.tumblr.com/post/84633235223/imagine-your-otp-at-the-altar-of-a-church-about


End file.
